


Mycroft Holmes’ Retirement Plan

by hotchoco195



Series: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes & Family [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Deception, Family Drama, Father Knows Best, Gen, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Overprotective, Teen prodigy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Nicholas starting his new job with Uncle Mycroft, there's a lot to consider - like a two-generation government dynasty and its future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mycroft Holmes’ Retirement Plan

“I don’t like this.” Sherlock muttered into his hand, foot tapping in the air.

“You don’t have to, Da. It’s my choice, right?”

“But the government?” he scoffed, “I thought you had better taste.”

“It appeals to me. All that data, all the numbers and places and secrets.”

“Your mother’s probably rolling in her grave.”

“Which should only make you happier.” Nicholas kissed the top of his curly head.

“Tell Mycroft if I catch you in a three-piece suit I’m going to dunk his head in a vat of cake mix.”

“You can tell me yourself,” Mycroft smiled from the doorway, “Ready to go?”

“I am. See you later Da.”

The teenager followed his uncle outside to the waiting town car. Mycroft’s latest ambiguously pretty blonde assistant (Carmen, this one was) sat opposite them thumbing through her phone.

“You understand you’re not to use your real name?” Mycroft said quietly.

“Of course. Can’t have people asking questions about where I came from.”

“You are my new fifteen-year-old protégé – questions are inescapable. Hopefully we can answer them well enough to satisfy even the nosiest of my colleagues.”

The drive to Whitehall was twice as long as normal with the morning traffic. Mycroft and Carmen led him into the high ivory halls, passing other mundane-looking office workers in dark suits.

“Morning, Mycroft.” One man nodded.

“Morning, Graham.”

“Morning, Mycroft!”

“Good morning, Cyril.”

“Mycroft, can you take a look at these expense reports for the Chechen delegation?” a redhead with a harassed expression fell into step beside them.

“Certainly.” He waved for Carmen to take the offered folder.

“Who’s this then?”

“Nicholas Vernet, my new associate.”

“You’re joking.” He scoffed.

Nicholas fought to keep the annoyance out of his expression. He was a tall fifteen and dressed impeccably in a better suit than this incredulous dolt, but he knew he still had a young face. It was natural people would be surprised.

“Nicholas is an expert in linguistics and mathematics. He is a tremendous analyst. He’ll be working with me full-time.”

“Oh. Uh, Richard Blake.” He offered his hand.

“Good to meet you.”

“Richie, I’ll get back to you on the report.” Mycroft said with an air of finality.

“Right.”

Richard disappeared into the crowd, still looking over his shoulder at Nicholas. They took two turns and a set of stairs up to a perfectly ordinary door with a desk outside for Carmen. Mycroft unlocked it and waved him through. There was a second desk for Nicholas at right angles to his uncle’s, the expensive computer setup the only impressive thing about the room.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll have Carmen give you the induction manuals. Boring stuff but protocol, you understand.”

“Of course.”

“We’ll give them a week to get used to you before you start shadowing me at meetings. Eventually the novelty will wear off and people will accept you for your talents.”

“Whatever it takes.” He smiled.

 

Nicholas very quickly grew tired of explaining himself to people over and over but it was necessary. That was always the thought at the back of his head – necessary. It was necessary to win these dull government workers over, it was necessary to prove his abilities and his discretion, it was all part of creating a niche for himself. Mycroft’s stamp of approval gave him a leg up but from there it was all him.

It didn’t take long to make an impression. His work for the hostage situation in Bolivia was highly praised; his treatment of the embezzlement scandal in the navy got him stares whenever he entered the building. His father only gave him amused looks whenever he walked into the house but at Whitehall? At Whitehall Nicholas ‘Vernet’ was a new marvel.

“Working for the government then?” Uncle John said over tea, “That’s a good racket.”

“That’s not why I’m doing it.”

John blinked and set his mug down. “Well obviously. But it’s a steady position all the same.”

“Uncle John, I don’t _need_ the money.”

“It’s not always about money, lad. The thing with you and Merry is you’re like your parents. You need a constant stream of things to do.”

“Working with Uncle Mycroft’s certainly a good source of that.” He stirred his tea.

“What’s your sister up to these days anyway?”

“Last I heard she was in Cambodia studying monkeys.”

“Monkeys?”

“Their brains, to be more specific.”

John shook his head. “You Holmeses and your strange ideas.”

Nicholas smiled. “I thought that was part of our charm.”

*****

He flicked through the morning’s mail, glancing at the senders’ names and determining which were actually important and which were just people sucking up or trying to waste their time.

“Nicholas.” Mycroft walked in, shutting the door behind him.

“Yes?”

“It’s come to our attention that there’s a small situation brewing in Latvia that needs to be addressed. The Foreign Secretary has requested your assistance crunching some of the numbers. You’re to see him at his office tomorrow evening. They’ll send a car.”

“Alright.”

“This is a very great show of trust. Things are looking well for you.”

Nicholas nodded and kept sorting through the papers on his desk, pulling out one particular envelope.

“There’s something here I thought you should see.”

Mycroft took it, scanning the letter with an increasingly deep frown.

“This is very serious.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to call you out of your meeting.”

“I’ll have to leave tomorrow.”

“Carmen’s already making the arrangements.”

Mycroft regarded him for a moment. “You should come too.”

He looked up. “Me? By rights I shouldn’t have even seen the document.”

“But you’re an extra set of eyes, and very charming with new acquaintances.”

Nicholas shrugged. “I’ll pick you up when I’m done with the Foreign Secretary then. We’ll go to the airport together.”

“Five o’clock?”

“Sounds about right.”

“I shall expect you.”

“Da’s not going to like this.”

Mycroft smiled. “He’ll find a way to cope, I’m sure.”

 

Nicholas climbed out as the car stopped, holding the door open. Mycroft headed down his front steps with overnight bag and umbrella in hand.

“I apologise for the delay. I couldn’t find that report on Bolton Cowell.”

“It’s fine. Heathrow.” He nodded to the driver, climbing in behind his uncle.

Traffic was hellish. It was if the entire city had conspired to make them miss their flight. Of course this was impossible with a private government charter but the delay was irritating anyway. Mycroft looked out the window as they drove, hands tight around the handle of his case.

“I don’t think I can overstress the importance of this meeting, Nicholas.”

“I know, Uncle Mikey.”

“It’s a lot of pressure to be putting on such young shoulders but I shall rely on you to keep your ears open.”

“I promise I’ll be on high alert.”

They pulled up to the security gate and the driver showed his authorisation. They drove towards the lone jet waiting by the hangar, the stairs pushed up to the open door. It was dark now, the lights of the other planes blinking across the tarmac. Nicholas got out first, holding the door for the elder Holmes. He let Mycroft up the stairs ahead of him, careful to stay close. The pair walked into the cabin and Mycroft stopped abruptly, staring at the woman sitting in his seat with her legs crossed leisurely.

“Meredith.”

“Hi Uncle Mikey. Have you missed me?”

She looked hopelessly elegant in a black satin blouse and trousers, her heels pointed and very high. Mycroft didn’t move but Nicholas could see the tension in his hands as he gripped his umbrella tighter.

“What are you doing here?”

“Catching up, obviously.” Meredith smiled.

“My pilot?”

A dark-haired man with tattoos up both arms stepped out of the cockpit, a gun in his hand. “Present.”

Meredith grinned at him and turned to Mycroft. “There is no pilot. No meeting either.”

“What is this, Merry? You’re kidnapping us?”

“Not us, Uncle Mikey,” Nicholas said, “Just you.”

Mycroft’s face was a study in bewilderment as his expression changed from annoyed and wary to real hurt. He opened and closed his mouth as if not sure where to start.

“I had expected more from you. Both of you.” He looked at Meredith again.

“It’s not all doom and gloom, Uncle Mikey. I’m not going to damage you.”

“Perhaps you should sit and we’ll explain.” Nicholas waved him forward.

 

It was more Jean-Luc and his gun than the gentle push that got Mycroft moving towards a seat. The three Holmeses faced each other, Nicholas beside his sister as they both watched Mycroft with the same carefully guarded look.

“Very well. You have me here helpless. Why?”

“You’re getting older, Uncle Mycroft. Too old.” Nicholas shook his head.

“So you’ve decided to usurp my position?”

“Not quite. See, Merry and I discussed it. There’s no way they’ll let you slip away quietly. You know too much. You’re too important, Uncle Mikey. No one buys the line about a ‘minor position’ anymore.”

“People will start to get antsy soon. They’ll worry your mind will go, that you’ll give up their secrets. They’ll poison your tea first chance they get.”

“We aren’t inclined to let that happen.” Nicholas shrugged.

“So you’re abducting me?”

“We’re getting you out of the country. Somewhere nice and quiet where no one will recognise you. You’ll be safe.”

“To what purpose? I have been at this job for forty years, Meredith. I never married, never had a family. What shall I do with my free time?”

“If you’d rather work yourself to the absolute last minute of usefulness and submit to their assassins, go ahead,” Meredith scowled, “But I had thought you might want to take this opportunity, at least for Da’s sake.”

Nicholas reached into his jacket for a folded sheet of paper, handing it over. “An order for surveillance at your townhouse. They’ve never needed to spy on you in the past, have they? You were the one planting cameras, not the other way around.”

He stuck out his lip, staring at the paper.

“They don’t trust you anymore, Uncle Mikey. They’ll turn on you, years of service or not.”

Nicholas stood, buttoning his jacket. “I should be getting back. I have a disappearance to arrange.”

“Thanks for the help, little brother.” She smiled at him.

“It’s the last favour I do you, Merry. From here on out if I catch you working in Britain I’ll tell Da and have you arrested.”

She smiled innocently. “I’ll behave.”

He leaned down and kissed Mycroft’s cheek. “Take care, uncle.”

Nicholas climbed off the plane and Jean-Luc shut the door, sealing the hatch before he walked into the cockpit and closed that door behind him as well.

“So Uncle Mikey, white wine or red?” Meredith opened a side cabinet as they started taxiing back.

He looked up from the paper. “Something stronger, perhaps.”

“I’ll see what we can do.”

She sorted through the bottles and pulled out a short decanter of dark liquid, pouring it into two glasses and offering him one. Mycroft glared at her for a moment and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry, alright? I did try other less dramatic tactics first, you know. Pretty women, pretty men, anyone I thought might persuade you to take it easy. Even Carmen’s one of mine. You didn’t go for any of them.”

“So you have decided that in order to save my life you must first take away my right to choose what I do with it.” He took the glass.

She stared at him coldly. “For an intelligent man you can be so dull sometimes. I have absolutely no trouble believing you would have stayed until they killed you out of some old-fashioned sense of loyalty or duty.”

“It seemed preferable to looking over my shoulder for the rest of my days.”

“Well here I am with a third option!” she beamed, “And trust me, I think it’s the better of the three.”

“I cannot just up and leave decades of work. Who will decrypt my codes? Who will finish my outstanding projects?”

“Nicholas. You know he can figure it out. You’ve been giving him the tools to do it for weeks now.”

Mycroft took a sip and sat back. “You planned all this.”

“Of course.”

“Just to save me?”

She shrugged, swilling the liquor around her mouth. “You’re family.”

*****

They landed in darkness but Mycroft was pretty sure it was Charles de Gaulle from the shape of the terminal. Instead of heading inside though Meredith and her muscle led him to a waiting chopper. Jean-Luc slipped on the pilot’s headset and climbed in.

“He’s very versatile.” Mycroft said.

“I’ve always thought so.” Meredith smiled, holding open the door for him.

Mycroft strapped himself into the harness, clutching his umbrella like some kind of safety net. He was being kidnapped by his own niece and taken God knows where, expected to live out his remaining days doing what…fishing? Playing backgammon? Making age-appropriate friends? It all sounded rather dull, though he had to admit the idea of being able to laze around as much as he liked was appealing. And what was his alternative? Find a way to escape and head home to more than likely be killed by his own employers sometime in the next few years?

The chopper ride lasted about an hour and a half. It was still too dark to see much of anything but he thought he could make out trees and open fields as Jean-Luc set them down gently, killing the engine.

“Home again.” Meredith sighed, unbuckling herself.

Mycroft followed cautiously, taking his time as he climbed out. Jean-Luc was ahead, walking towards a small cottage with blue doors and windows, the garden wrapping around the stone sides to a small veranda.

“This is Mummy’s place.”

“It was,” Meredith offered him her arm, “You know she left it to me.”

“Half was supposed to be your brother’s.”

“He didn’t want it. Never cared for the countryside, apparently.”

“And now it’s the secret hideout for a criminal mastermind.”

“I think in her own way _Grand-mere_ would have found that funny, don’t you? She always did like Ma.”

“It’s stupidly reckless. Anyone could have connected you to it-”

“No they couldn’t. Nobody knows Da has any children, and nobody I associate with knows my name. The only person who could find me here is you and you didn’t even know what I was up to.”

“I had hoped you’d grown out of this phase.”

She led him inside with a roll of her eyes as Jean-Luc walked into the living room, holstering his weapon.

“All clear.”

“Thank you. I’ll settle Uncle Mycroft and be right with you.”

The gunman poured himself a glass of wine, heading for the couch. Meredith pointed Mycroft towards a room in the corner of the house, its quaint blue bedsheets and matching curtains painting the perfect pastoral scene.

“Am I a prisoner then? Confined to my rooms?”

“Of course not. I told you on the plane, if you want to turn around and go back I won’t stop you. But I won’t help you either.”

She turned on the bedside lamp, bustling about until she found a pair of pyjamas that looked suspiciously like his from home.

“Now you can stay here or come out for some company, but I doubt you’ll want to be privy to our conversation.”

“I believe I shall be more comfortable here.”

“Alright. There’s food if you want it.”

She kissed his cheek, closing the door behind her. Mycroft turned the pyjamas over in his hands, staring at the soft fabric. This was it then, apparently. He was just supposed to stay here and turn a blind eye to whatever shocking crimes were being discussed in the main room? Unthinkable. Not to mention the mess back in London when people realised he was missing – or dead, depending on how Nicholas framed it. He couldn’t possibly stay here and let everything fall to pieces. It wasn’t worth a few extra years.

 

He woke to the smell of fresh bread and groaned. It was positively criminal for anything to be that tempting this early. Mycroft rolled out of bed and found a fluffy blue robe in the closet, wrapping it around himself against the slight chill. He opened the door and walked into the kitchen.

Jean-Luc was slicing melon in nothing but a pair of jeans, a silver chain around his neck. Mycroft could see the dense muscle that covered his torso, the scars on his chest and back from fighting. With his arms exposed Mycroft finally got a good look at his tattoos, picking out several common themes in the swirling black and grey chaos: skulls, knives, ragged flowers. He glanced at the oven and sniffed, stomach rumbling. The gunman looked up.

“ _Bonjour_.”

“ _Bonjour_ ,” he said without thinking, hovering near the counter, “I take it you’re the new Moran.”

The younger man’s lip curved up at the side. “He got me the job. Bread’s almost done - strawberry jam or marmalade?”

“I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to you.”

He flung his knife into the chopping board with a heavy thwack, the tip biting into the wood. “You should eat.”

“The melon will be fine.”

Meredith walked in wearing a white blouse and black pants, heavy pearl strings around her neck. She slid an arm around Jean-Luc’s waist, kissing his shoulder.

“Good morning all. How did you sleep, Uncle Mikey?”

“Fine.”

“Good.” She smiled a little too sweetly, tapping Jean-Luc’s back, “You’d best hurry. You’re supposed to be in Avignon at ten.”

He winked at her and left the kitchen. Meredith took over the melon, putting the slices on a platter and pushing it across the counter towards Mycroft.

“You’ll give us both a headache if you keep glaring like that.” She sang teasingly.

 “Really, Meredith – sleeping with the employees? I thought you were smarter.”

She scoffed. “Oh please, Uncle Mikey. No need to go all overprotective in Da’s absence.”

“It’s not about your father. I care about you, whatever you may choose to do with your life. And that man is too old and too dangerous for you.”

“Nine years is nothing.” Meredith shrugged, ignoring the other part.

Mycroft went to say something and she shook her head, leaning over the bench.

“Uncle Mikey, stop. I think we’ve established by now I prefer to make my own decisions.”

“And if they’re the wrong ones?”

“Wrong is subjective. _If_ it turns out they’re wrong for me, I’ll handle it.”

She opened a newspaper, flicking through the first pages idly. Mycroft frowned.

“Plans for the day?”

“I’ll be working for most of it. I thought you might like time to settle in, but tonight we can drive into the city for dinner. Or Jean-Luc could cook – he’s a wizard with a red wine jus.”

“And this is how you think I’ll be spending the rest of my days, is it? Meals with my criminal niece and her attack dog, lazing around in the garden reading and trying not to go mad from lack of stimuli?”

She arched a brow at him. “You can spend them however you want. Personally I think you’ve earned a bit of leisure.”

“Meredith, I can’t condone this-”

“You don’t have to. You’re not working for the Crown now, Uncle Mikey. If my work is sometimes illegal, it’s no threat to you. I don’t see why you would object.”

“Morally it is my duty to take offence to any actions that hurt others.”

“People hurt each other every day. There will always be someone like me, Uncle Mikey, so you might as well accept it.”

She took the bread out of the oven and set it aside to cool, arranging melon on a plate.

“Well, I’ll be in the study.”

She flounced off and Mycroft sighed. Now what?

*****

Nicholas was putting the final touches on his toast when his father shuffled in. “Morning.”

“Is there tea?” the detective blinked sleepily.

“Kettle’s just boiled.” The teenager handed him a plate.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took it, pouring himself a cup of tea and sitting at the table. There was a knock at the front door.

“I’ll get it.” Nicholas headed out.

Sherlock scowled at his toast but took a bite, chewing tiredly. He’d been up all night working and though he’d never admit it to Nicholas, the food helped. His son returned with a frown, a man in a dark suit behind him.

“Mr Holmes,” he said, reverting to his office act, "This is Mr Grissom. He works in security at Whitehall.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Holmes.” The tall brunette nodded.

“What does he want?”

“Your brother’s missing.”

“Missing?” Sherlock frowned, “How can he be missing? You saw him yesterday.”

“He didn’t meet his driver this morning, sir. We’ve tried all his numbers and he won’t pick up. His assistant had a key; she checked the house and he’s gone.”

“Signs of a struggle?” Sherlock straightened.

Grissom’s face tightened. “Some.”

“Show me.”

“Sir, I don’t think that’s a good-”

“Show me!” he stood.

“Uh, alright. Our people are there now.”

“Are you coming, Nicholas?”

He screwed up his face. “I can’t, sir. If Mycroft’s disappeared, the office will be going ballistic. I should get to work and try to keep a handle on things.”

“Fine. I’m sure it’s nothing serious anyway. I’ll keep you posted.”

Nicholas nodded. “Thanks.”

“Mr Grissom, I’ll be downstairs in thirty-eight seconds. I will meet you at the car.”

“Very good, sir.”

 

Mycroft’s house looked like an anthill, the front steps swarming with people in various uniforms. Sherlock shouldered his way through the crowd, Grissom close on his heels.

“The only disturbance we’ve found was in the den, sir.”

“Cameras?”

“Not in the house, and the street ones showed nothing.”

He nodded grimly and walked into the den. A chair had been knocked, not enough to overturn it, but it had messed up the rug. There were two empty tumblers on the side table but apart from that the room looked normal. Sherlock waved everyone else out and started his inspection, pointing his magnifying lens at the smallest threads of the carpet and running his nose over a slightly sticky patch of wood. His phone rang in his pocket and he shot Grissom a look.

“If you’ll excuse me?”

“Certainly Mr Holmes. I’ll have a word with the investigator.”

Sherlock waited until he’d closed the door to answer. “Sherlock Holmes.”

“Are you aware your children are completely out of control?”

“Mycroft!” He smiled, “How’s France?”

“You knew?”

“Meredith had to bring me in at some stage. As clever as Nicholas is, he was never going to convince me you’d disappeared. I must say he’s done a good job with the ‘crime scene’ though. Just vague enough that even the great Sherlock Holmes would be helpless – or at least appear to be.”

“And you’re fine with this.”

“So long as you stay alive, I’m fine with all of it. As much of a prat as you are, I don’t want anyone to kill you.”

“This is insane, Sherlock. There is no way Nicholas can cope with my work – and this fake kidnapping is only going to make me look like more of a liability. They’ll do whatever it takes to get me back and find out what I’ve revealed.”

“They won’t find you. Stop fussing for once in your life and let someone else handle it, alright?”

Mycroft scowled at the phone as Sherlock hung up. So his darling brother wasn’t going to come rescue him either. It was certainly a fine way to repay all the trouble he’d gone to over the years for the younger Holmes and his children, but then why should he expect gratitude from someone as self-centred as Sherlock?

It was true though. If he resurfaced now the government would think he’d been compromised, and his expiration date would be rushed forward. He was trapped. He could stay with Meredith or die, and that was that.

His niece walked out of the study with a pile of newspapers and her empty plate. She pursed her lips when she noticed the phone in his hand but didn’t say anything.

“Merry,” Mycroft sighed, “I believe I should like to dine out tonight.”

She smiled. “I’ll make a booking.”

*****

Nicholas ‘Vernet’ walked into the meeting room and nodded to the people who looked up in greeting, making his way to the main desk. A man sat glancing through a stack of papers, another leaning over his shoulder. He straightened when he saw the teenager approach.

“Ah, Nicholas! May I introduce you to the Prime Minister?”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” He shook the older man’s hand.

“And you, son. Cyril’s told me all about you.”

“Oh, I’m sure he exaggerates. I occupy a minor position, at best.”

“Don’t listen to him – he’s a maths wiz! A real up-and-coming kid.”

“Cyril tells me you can help us with some tricky analysis. Is that the case?” the prime minister asked gravely.

“I’ll see what I can do, sir.”


End file.
